


Sorry for Our Pains

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Corporal Punishment, Embarrassment, Fingering, Imprisonment, M/M, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Aziraphale is looking forward to some Heavenly punishment when an inconvenient and unrepentant archangel makes an appearance.-Filled for the kink meme prompt locatedhere.-
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Michael/Uriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

_Oh, it rather has been a while, hasn't it,_ Aziraphale thought, trying not to squirm too eagerly. He normally would have been irritated at the hardness of the bench in the holding cell, but right now, it was only an exciting reminder of what was to come. He worked on composing himself a little, because it certainly wouldn't do to be giggling when the custodians showed up.

It had been almost forty years since they had last caught him fraternizing with a demon- _honestly, Suriel should have caught me in Athens, but blind as a bat, that one-_ and the anticipation after so long made him feel slightly light-headed with eagerness.

It was twenty with the paddle, which, perhaps a little disappointing, but it would be Michael dealing them out, and Michael was _mean._ Aziraphale was willing to give up five or ten swats as long as it was Michael. He took a deep breath, folding his hands neatly in his lap so they wouldn't be inclined to go wandering to other places, and closed his eyes, focusing on producing the appearance of a worried and penitent angel. He had never been the world's best actor, but Heaven was notoriously dense about such things...

A commotion in the hallway made him look up startled; it was early yet to get things started, and he half-rose from the bench.

“Please, surely not yet,” he protested stepping towards the door, but then it opened, and...

Aziraphale took two automatic steps back as the Archangel Gabriel strode into the room, brightening the dim space with his pearly glow and sending a shiver down Aziraphale's spine with the dark look on his face. There were probably only two angels in Heaven who were completely unafraid of Gabriel, and none of them were in that cell or that hallway.

One of the custodians who had ushered Gabriel in cleared her throat.

“You will be sent for, Archangel-”

“I _know_ the rules,” Gabriel snapped. “I was there when they were written.”

Aziraphale knew for a fact that he hadn't been. Aziraphale himself had written this particular set of rules, and given that he had done so with his robes hitched up and his hand between his legs, Gabriel had most certainly not been around to see.

The door shut softly, and Gabriel glowered, taking up far more space in the cell than he should have been able to even in his large corporation. Aziraphale hung back, a new kind of nervousness in his belly now, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Gabriel held up his hand for quiet before spinning towards the door.

There was a pair of eyes in the grate, peering in with fascination, and they disappeared with a yelp just seconds before Gabriel's fist hit the steel. The steel grating was meant to withstand the fury of imprisoned angels, but Gabriel's blow popped it straight out, sending it to clang heavily to the floor outside. There was a sound of scampering footsteps, and Gabriel snorted, shaking his head.

Aziraphale realized he had never seen the archangel so disheveled. His perfect hair was rumpled, there was a ripped seam half-separating his sleeve from his jacket, and his trousers were unbuttoned, the belt lost and gone. His mouth looked raw, as if someone had slapped it, and there was a hint of a dark bruise peeping from above the collar of his shirt.

“They beat you,” Aziraphale blurted out in dismay, because that wasn't supposed to happen. Heaven was civilized, Heaven did not abuse its angels. Punishments were carried out in precisely controlled circumstances, and from the stiff and careful away Gabriel moved to the bench, someone or someones had clearly wounded him.

Gabriel gave Aziraphale a sullen look.

“As if any of _them_ could do it,” he said scornfully.

“Then who-?”

For a moment, Gabriel looked as if he wouldn't answer, but then his shoulders sagged.

“Beelzebub,” he muttered.

“Prince Beelzebub beat you-” Aziraphale stopped himself because why would they put an archangel in a cell for a fight, and then the penny dropped.

“Oh!”

Gabriel winced.

“Yeah.”

“So you're in here to-”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale did not like Gabriel. He wasn't sure that anyone did. However there was something so dejected about the archangel now that he found himself gingerly sitting down on the bench next to him, his hands folded to prevent them from fluttering nervously.

“I... I didn't know. About you and Beelzebub.”

Gabriel bared his sharp teeth in a mirthless smile.

“Good.”

“Ah, well...”

“Couldn't stay away,” muttered Gabriel. “Not from zir. Nothing makes... _Fuck.”_

He buried his face in his hands, and Aziraphale, who knew something about loving someone he shouldn't, instinctively put his arm around the archangel's broad shoulders. He thought that Gabriel might shove him off, but instead Gabriel swung towards him, head pressed against Aziraphale's shoulder.

_Well, I certainly didn't expect this today,_ Aziraphale thought with just a touch of asperity. He was meant to be enjoying some good, old-fashioned Heavenly correction, not guiding a archangel through a crisis.

“Thanks,” Gabriel said after a minute, sitting up. He looked at Aziraphale as if seeing him properly for the first time.

“Here for the same old?” Gabriel asked, and Aziraphale tried to look properly remorseful as he nodded. He started to say something about flesh being weak, Satan's minions being wily, etcetera, etcetera, but Gabriel spoke first.

“What's it like?”

“Oh! Well, every demon is different,” Aziraphale said, surprised to be asked. “I mean, it seems like Prince Beelzebub is a bit on the rougher side, which _I_ wouldn't like, but-”

“No, not _that,_ ” Gabriel said, aggrieved. “The punishment.”

“A certain number of strokes with a paddle delivered on the bare,” Aziraphale said automatically, and then he blinked, taking a closer look at Gabriel.

“Gabriel... are you afraid?”

Gabriel hesitated, and then nodded.

“It's supposed to make you stop, right?” he asked. “Keep you from making the same mistakes again? It's meant to change you.”

Aziraphale hesitated.

“It's... it's a difficult thing,” he said carefully. “But I have found that while the memory of it might make you hesitate from committing your... sin again, only you can make the final decision on what you do or do not do.”

Gabriel straightened up, seemingly comforted by Aziraphale's words.

“I can deal with that,” he said, and Aziraphale recognized a very familiar stubbornness in the set of the archangel's jaw. Aziraphale could already tell that what happened next would have absolutely no effect on whether Gabriel continued letting Beelzebub rip him to pieces.

Aziraphale thought they would just sit in silence, but Gabriel surprised him by speaking again.

“So...”

“So?”

“What should I... that is, what should I do?”

“What Michael tells you to do,” Aziraphale said, puzzled. “It will be explained to you, you do not have to guess.”

“No! Like, what would _you_ do?”

Aziraphale realized with some amazement that Gabriel was asking him for advice. He felt oddly shocked at the thought, and he considered the question carefully.

“Well, certainly do as Michael says. If she has to order you back to position, she'll give you extra. And don't reach back. You'll probably want to, but don't.”

“More swats?”

“Yes, and the possibility that they'll tie you down.” Aziraphale remembered to keep the eagerness out of his voice at the last moment. The archangel really was nervous.

“All right. What else?”

“Tensing up hurts more, so try to relax if you can. This is going to happen to you whether you like it or not, so simply accept it.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment.

“Don't try to be stoic and silent. You won't tough it out, especially not if it's Michael. You _will_ be crying and carrying on by the end, and if you try to deny her, she'll only hit you the harder.”

Sometimes Aziraphale started to wail immediately, and sometimes he hung on as long as he could just to feel the swats come down with increasing speed and viciousness. It depended on his mood, and he swallowed a fond, smug smile at the memories.

Gabriel nodded, and Aziraphale for the first time noticed a blush on the archangel's cheeks. He watched in fascination as Gabriel worried at his lower lip, shifting uneasily on the hard bench in a way that suddenly looked very familiar.

“Gabriel,” he said carefully. “How many are they going to give you?”

“Forty,” Gabriel muttered, and Aziraphale had to stifle a squawk of pique. Forty? He had only gotten thirty for the time Variel caught him and Crowley in that haystack, and he had been letting the demon despoil his mouth! Honestly, it just wasn't fair.

“That's a rather lot,” Aziraphale said, and he watched Gabriel shift again on the bench. He was momentarily torn between his duty to another angel and his pure jealousy, but in the end, duty won out.

“Gabriel?”

“Yeah?”

“I strongly suggest that you make sure that you act as if you aren't enjoying it.”

“Huh?”

Aziraphale was prevented from explaining by two nervous custodians coming in to fetch Gabriel, and he watched with a mixture of sympathy and envy as they led the archangel out.

He sat quietly on the bench, listening now. The correction room wasn't far from the holding cell, and some ten minutes later, he heard it.

There was the hefty raw thwack of a heavy paddle against flesh, followed by Gabriel's outraged shout. Whatever they might have said about Gabriel, no one would ever say that he suffered in silence, and the second swat brought a bellow that was, if anything, even louder.

The third, and it was all too easy to imagine the archangel bent over the low sturdy table that was bolted to the floor, his trousers down around his ankles and his hands grasping desperately at the opposite edge. Aziraphale realized that he was sweating lightly at the idea of the heavy wood brought down hard across the archangel's ass, his pale flesh turning first a rosy pink and then an offended red. It wasn't the same as imagining it happening to him, and he wasn't used to imagining anyone else getting time over the table, but there was something irresistible about the image.

Aziraphale spread his thighs, reaching down to press his fingers between them over his trousers. He didn't dare take them down, not that the custodians would have the first blessed idea what he was doing, but he pressed his fingers hard over his clit, rubbing slowly, and then faster as he listened to the crack of the paddle and Gabriel's howls.

_Oh, it's hurting him, I wonder if he's crying yet. He'll be so_ sore _, the poor sorry thing... That was... what was that? Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen..._

Aziraphale was on the verge of a very discreet climax when a step in the hall made him jerk his hand away, his cheeks flushed.

“'Principality Aziraphale? Come with us.”

Confused, he followed them to the correction room, where, yes, Gabriel was still bent over the table, head down and shoulders slumped. Behind him, still crisp as an early spring morning, was Michael, her sleeves rolled up, and with the heavy oak paddle that figured in so many of Aziraphale's private daydreams in her strong, delicate hands.

“Er...”

“Principality Aziraphale, you are here for the misdemeanor of fraternizing with a demon,” Michael said sternly. “You have been sentenced to twenty strokes with the paddle. Do you understand?”

“Ah, yes, archangel, I do understand,” Aziraphale said automatically, and she nodded.

“This is hardly your first time in in the correction room,” she said with disapproval. “You know what to do, don't you?”

Aziraphale looked at the table, where Gabriel hadn't moved.

“Oh, but...”

“The Archangel Gabriel is being punished for sins of a similar nature,” Michael said. “You will suffer your comeuppance at the same time, and perhaps seeing a reflection of your own humiliation will cause you _both_ to think twice before committing your sins again.”

“Oh!”

Aziraphale was suddenly very glad he had switched out his cock for a quim that morning. Something about the idea of being punished next to someone, of sharing their humiliation and having a similarly humiliated witness, sent a sharp shock of arousal straight between his legs.

Somehow, he wobbled his way to the table to take his place by Gabriel, and when his hands went to unfasten his trousers, they were shaking a little. He was aware of Gabriel's hoarse breathing, and yes, Gabriel's rear was already a fiery red, the edge of the paddle leaving those terrible little welts that stung so when you brushed them unawares. He stared a heartbeat too long, suddenly wanting very much to reach over and pinch one of those welts.

“Today, principality!” Michael snapped, and Aziraphale muttered an apology before he realized he might have been able to milk a shaky reluctance for more attention. He tugged his trousers down, and he bent over the table, less than a foot of space separating his left hand on the edge of the table from Gabriel's right. Gabriel gave off heat like a steam engine, and Aziraphale instinctively looked ahead. If he looked at Gabriel right now, who knew what he might do?

In moments like this, it felt as if his already sharp senses were tuned up and tightened like a violin string. He could hear Michael's soft step behind them, the whoosh of the paddle, and Gabriel shouted, shaking the table underneath them. He could hear how hard the blow was in the thick thud of wood on flesh, in the archangel's pained cry, and then his mind blanked out in a chant of _me next, me next, me next..._

Only it wasn't.

Another hard blow to Gabriel, nearly on the heels of the first, and Gabriel flattened on the table next to him, his shout dissolving into a sob. Aziraphale had just a moment straighten up a little in confusion, and then the paddle descended on his own rear with stunning, breathtaking force, too hard, surely too hard the way it always was with Michael, and he wailed. There was no thought this time of trying to last. It felt as if Michael's famous temper was up, and she was after some serious penitence.

It took another four strokes, two for him, one for Gabriel, and another for him, for Aziraphale to realize that Michael was not trading them equal blows back and forth. Instead she was switching randomly, two or three at a time before turning to work on the other, and it was excruciating. There was no way at all to tell when there might be a pause, no way to try to relax for the next blow. Aziraphale's body was drawn tight between adoring this with every fiber of his being and the understanding that it hurt, it hurt, oh it hurt, she couldn't hit him this hard, please, it had to stop, he couldn't take this, just _couldn't_.

Usually he tried to keep track of his strokes, but there was no way to do that today, not with the erratic count and with the distraction of Gabriel beside him. There was nothing stoic or terrifying about Gabriel right now, not after Michael had reduced him to a sodden rag. He howled like a tornado siren, not asking for mercy, not sorry, but only outraged at the pain being so justifiably delivered to his rear. Aziraphale realized at some point he was starting to like the sound of Gabriel's shouts because it was a brief relief from his own pain, started to love them a little, in fact, when he glanced over to see Gabriel's handsome face streaked with furious tears.

_Oh, but he_ is _handsome. Everyone said, but I never knew..._

Aziraphale's thoughts stopped there as Michael swatted him three times, hard and fast, enough to make him dig his fingers into the edge of the table and to force him to rest his face on the wood, crying at last.

Oh this was what he was after, the raw burn in his rear, the exhausted weeping, the sheer surrender of his body under the onslaught of pain that simply would not stop, not if he cried, not if he whined or bargained or begged.

He listened with a strange glee as Michael gave Gabriel two more, heard Gabriel shout and stamp his foot hard on the tile floor as if that would bring some relief. Aziraphale knew it wouldn't, and he had to resist the urge to impulsively reach out and take the archangel's hand.

_Oh the poor sorry thing,_ he thought again, and then he uttered a hoarse weepy cry as Michael landed another hard blow on his own rear.

Michael finished with two hard blows for each, the sound of the hard thwacks fading in the air into a velvety silence. Aziraphale was lost in the wild peace he found after a session like this, grateful beyond words that it was over, about an hour or so from wishing that it had gone on longer. His ass throbbed, and he knew that when he reached back to touch it later it would still be hot and swollen, certainly bruised this time.

“All right you two,” Michael said, coming around to stand in front of them. “Get up, stop sniveling. You have papers to sign.”

The papers had been his idea too, and Aziraphale sniffled theatrically as Michael placed the two clipboards in front of them where they had so lately lain.

“ _Read_ them,” Michael insisted. “Don't just sign what anyone puts in front of you. That's very bad practice.”

With their trousers down around their ankles, Gabriel and Aziraphale read the two-page form describing what they had done, why Heaven had to punish it, what Heaven had done to punish it, and how they had better not do it again.

Aziraphale marked his sigil on the line directly under where Michael (“the corrections officer”) had placed hers. Gabriel followed suit a moment later, and Michael miracled the clipboards away.

“All right. Trousers up, and back to the cell for both of you. You'll have an hour of contemplation before you're released, so use it wisely.”

More like an hour for him to wank himself silly, but Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how that was going to work with Gabriel in the cell with him. The custodians let them into the cell again, and then, looking at Gabriel, Aziraphale realized that it would probably work just fine. There was an erection tenting the front of Gabriel's trousers, half-hidden by the fall of his jacket, and when Aziraphale looked up at his face, the archangel turned even redder.

“I... I figured out what you meant. Right before,” Gabriel muttered.

“I see that you did.”

“What _was_ that?” Gabriel burst out. “It was... it was awful, and I hated it. It fucking _hurt,_ and I wanted to reach back and break that damned paddle into pieces and... and...”

“And it was an awful kind of Heaven as well?” Aziraphale suggested quietly.

At Gabriel's confused and freshly-tearful nod, Aziraphale sighed.

“Call ahead sometime and come down to see me on Earth,” he said. “I have some books that might interest you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Michael managed to get all the way to Uriel's office without a single wobble. She was very pleased with herself for that.

Uriel, who had been speaking quietly with a pair of junior angels with some blueprints, glanced up to see Michael in the doorway, did a double-take, and the nodded decisively.

“All right, you two, good initiative. Make sure that you address the points we've gone over, and Suriel, please. Just wear your glasses. It will make all of this much easier. I'll see you both next week for project review.”

The two angels bobbed respectfully at Michael on their way past, and she favored them with a cool nod completely at odds with how she was feeling. When they were gone, she locked the door after them, and then on second thought, vanished it entirely.

Uriel raised an eyebrow.

“That bad, starling?”

“Aziraphale and Gabriel both,” Michael said shaking her head in despair. “They're both like those terribly ugly little kittens usually. You know. Just unattractive but weirdly endearing? And then...”

“And then they get themselves into trouble, and big bad Michael has to bend them over and make them cry.”

Michael frowned.

“Don't tease...”

“Oh? I thought that was what you came here for,” said Uriel with a smile, holding her hand out to the other archangel.

With a soft helpless sound Michael took it, going to sink into Uriel's arms for a moment. Uriel smelled like sunshine and something warmer underneath, and when she slid one slim thigh between Michael's, Michael groaned with relief.

“Oh, that's my starling,” Uriel crooned. “So very excited by getting to play the hand of divine retribution again.”

“It wasn't _playing,”_ Michael said stiffly. “It's in the rules.”

“Ah, but is this in the rules as well?”

Uriel unfastened Michael's trousers, slipping a hand down her flat belly to tangle in the wiry hair between her legs. She stroked gently for a moment, and then swept lower, where Michael was growing wetter and hotter by the moment.

“Uriel...”

“Tsk. How wet you are over a little discipline, lover. Did you like seeing those two taking it at your pleasure? Did you like blistering their poor rumps?”

Michel gripped the edge of Uriel's desk behind her, tilting her head against Uriel's shoulder.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Gabriel _cried.”_

“What a bad archangel you are to get so wet over that. I think you may need a bit of discipline yourself.”

“Yes, I very much do,” Michael said, and a moment later, she was bent over Uriel's desk, grasping the opposite edge just as Gabriel and Aziraphale had a little while ago. Uriel stood close behind her, working her trousers down her hips just enough to bare the curve of her rear, and she made a pleased sound as Uriel cupped one cheek.

“Bad girl,” Uriel murmured lovingly. “Coming in here, all heated up and expecting me to take care of her...Such a good thing that I adore you.”

Michael started to reply, but then Uriel cracked her palm over her ass, a bright quick stroke where the sting was gone a moment later but the heat radiated straight through to her pussy. Uriel landed another stroke on her rear, and then her hand slid between Michael's thighs to the front. Her fingers sought and found Michael's clit, and her wrist pressed up deliciously between Michael's cheeks, making the archangel rock back against her involuntarily.

“Oh just _look_ at you,” Uriel murmured, nipping her ear playfully.

She continued you like that, a soft spank followed by that insidious blessed slide to the front, and in a few minutes, Michael's thighs were shaking, her head was down and she was making all sorts of sounds that verged on complete surrender, what a disgrace for God's own sword...

“We could do this in the correction room,” Uriel murmured, working at Michael's clit. “I could bring in little Aziraphale to _watch...”_

That did it. Michael's cry was at least as much outrage as it was pleasure, but then she tipped over the edge, her legs shaking so hard she went down on her knees at the desk, wetting her knickers thoroughly, her entire body shaking. She had to lean her head against the edge of Uriel's desk hard for a moment, and then when Uriel knelt behind her, she could press against Uriel as well.

“Oh, that was good, Uriel,” she murmured. “So good.”

Uriel kissed her firmly on the cheek.

“Good. Then you can repay me right now.”

“I can?” Michael asked, but Uriel was already rising.

“Yes. Suriel and Vespiel left me with a solid inch of plans for their project, and I need to go through them. Come keep me awake while I do, starling.”

Michael started to rise, but Uriel shook her head.

“Hands and knees, pet.”

Michael dropped again with a slight smile and a light blush, crawling behind Uriel to the other side of the desk. There was a pillow underneath it waiting for her, and she settled herself on her knees comfortably before Uriel unbuttoned her own trousers and sat down on her chair, scooting it forward so that Michael was completely enclosed underneath.

“Mouth only,” Uriel said crisply, reaching down to ruffle Michael's hair companionably. “And not too distracting, if you please, I really must get this work done.”

Michael leaned in to nuzzle the hairless slit between Uriel's legs, letting her eyes drift closed as her lover shuffled the stack of paperwork over her head. Uriel was already a little damp from what they had done earlier, and Michael sucked gently on her plump lips, relishing the taste of her and the feel of her in her mouth.

Really. Aziraphale could be a little more considerate of his superiors and get caught a little more often, she thought dreamily.


End file.
